Chapter 4
My father jabbed a finger at my nose, his hand trembling with rage.
"I'm telling you, Mallory, you have to fix this. Go apologize to Camron and convince him to change his mind. Do whatever it takes," he shouted.
I stared right back at him, unflinching.
"No way," I said. "Why don't you just find another daughter to marry Camron?"
"Damn you," he bellowed.
He was so furious that he slapped me hard across the face.
"If that's how you feel, then don't ever call me your father again. Get out of the Randolph family. We'll act like you were never born," he shouted.
My mother stood nearby, her voice trembling with tears as she spoke softly.
"Honey, can't you just admit you were wrong? Go back and apologize to Camron. Whatever you want, I'll buy it for you, just as long as you can save this marriage. You can't let your father's whole life's work go up in smoke," she pleaded.
Their pleas, accusations, and threats crashed over me like a tidal wave, suffocating me under the weight of their expectations.
My face burned, my legs throbbed, but nothing hurt more than the ache in my heart.
Did they ever care if I survived after they tossed me out at eighteen, penniless and alone?
I stared at the people who brought me into this world, and all my pain and resentment hardened into a cold stone inside me.
I pulled the corners of my mouth up, not letting a single tear fall.
"Alright," I said. "From now on, we're done. Whatever happens to the Randolph family, whatever happens to me, we have nothing to do with each other anymore."
I pressed the bank card I'd been saving for years into my mother's hand.
"This is everything I've managed to save. Think of it as payback for all you've spent raising me," I said.
"I'm never coming back to the Randolph family," I said.
My mother was frozen in place, gripping the card tightly in her hand.
After I finished speaking, I slowly stood up and headed outside.
As I walked back to my own place, memories of the past came flooding back.
The first time I met Camron, it was because my mother was upset that I hadn't cut the flowers exactly the way she wanted. She threw me out of the house in the freezing winter.
I stood outside, shivering in a thin coat, clutching a messy bunch of lilies and baby's breath that I'd butchered.
That was when Camron came out from the yard next door in his wheelchair. He looked at the messy bouquet in my hands through the fence, then glanced at my fingers, which were turning red from the cold.
"Why are you out here all alone in this freezing weather?" Camron asked.
I didn't reply. I just looked down at the flowers in my hands, feeling awkward and unsure what to do.
I'd been thrown out so many times before.
This was the first time I realized there was a guy my age living next door.
Camron rolled his wheelchair over, reached through the fence, and wrapped his cashmere scarf around my neck.
"You're not supposed to hold flowers like that," he said.
He took the messy bouquet from my hands, his fingers deftly arranging the stems and tying them up neatly.
As he lowered his head, his lashes drooped, making him look as if a soft winter frost had settled on him.
When the bouquet looked like it finally had a soul in his hands, Camron smiled and handed it back to me.
I took the bouquet from him, a bit stunned, almost in a trance.
"Thank you," I said softly.
He smiled again and fished out a couple of candies from his pocket.
"You should head home before they start to worry," he said.
In that moment, Camron was the only ray of warmth in my endless winter.
But now, Rebecca was standing next to him, and his eyes were nothing but cold and impatient when he looked at me.
It felt as if that warmth had never happened.
People really did change.
Or maybe he was always like this.
That warmth was just a way for him to kill time when he was bored, but I'd been clinging to it all these years.
When I got home, I scrolled through Instagram and saw Camron's latest post.
The photo showed him and Rebecca together.
The caption said: [Some people are good for falling in love with; , others are just good for living life with.]
A bunch of our mutual friends sent me screenshots of Camron's Instagram post, urging me to stir up some drama or confront him.
I didn't respond.
After a while, Camron messaged me again. [Don't make a scene.]
[I know your parents are making you come to me, asking for a reconciliation, but it's not happening.]
[Rebecca and I are fated to be together.]
Seeing Camron's messages pop up one after another, I couldn't help but find it ridiculous.
I shot back: [I never even thought about patching things up with you, and I'm definitely not going to beg.]
Camron's typing bubble lingered for what felt like forever.
But in the end, he never sent another message. He just disappeared.
The next afternoon rolled around.
Meanwhile, Camron was sitting in his office, his phone screen glowing with a conversation with Rebecca.
She'd sent him a few photos from a furniture store, asking which color sofa they should get.
"Camron, off-white or light gray linen? Off-white fits our living room vibe better, but do you think it'll show dirt?" Rebecca asked.
His finger hovered above the screen, unmoving.
Another scene flashed through his mind.